


Dial S for Soulmate

by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace



Series: Yet Another Gratuitously Fluffy Darcyland Soulmate AU [20]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Balrog the Bilgesnipe, Based on a True Story, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Crack, Darcy and Tony should not be allowed to scheme, Darcyland (Marvel), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, MysticShock, SHIP DARCY LEWIS WITH ALL THE THINGS, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Wendy the Cloak of Levitation, more or less, they are evil, y'all can thank my mom for this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace/pseuds/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: One phone call can change your life.  Just ask Darcy.  Or her soulmate.(But not Tony.  Tony never answers his phone.)





	Dial S for Soulmate

Tony Stark was an interfering, meddlesome busybody, and Darcy didn’t care who heard her say it.  She’d said it to his face more than once.

His response was usually along the lines of it takes one to know one, which Darcy disagreed with on general principle and also because she was literally paid to boss the lot of them around.  Not to mention the fact that Jane and Tony would have Scienced! themselves into an early grave if it wasn’t for her ‘meddling.’

Tony was also a man after her own heart when it came to messing with people, so she was usually willing to go along with his interfering, busybody schemes.  Especially in this case, which would, as he’d gleefully pointed out, kill two birds with one stone. The birds in question being the all-important excuse to mess with people, and the technically-more-important-but-really-just-a-bonus quest to find Darcy’s soulmate.

Which was why she was systematically prank-calling the Avengers on Tony’s phone.

Bruce, her first victim, was still slightly confused about why someone had felt the need to tell him that ‘Netherfield Park is let at last!’, the poor undereducated green bean.  Much to Darcy’s dismay, Jane Austen had never been high on his reading list.

Her next attempt was surprisingly more successful.  ‘One click,’ she’d gravely informed Natasha, ‘is answered by two clicks.’  She later discovered, when Nat tracked her down, that the Sspyssasian had a secret love of John Wayne movies, and the two proceeded to signal each other with a pair of clickers Darcy got from the dollar store whenever they were, in Jane’s words, ‘up to no good.’

Clint had actually beaten her to the punch.  ‘Tony’s Chop Shop,’ he said cheerfully before she could so much as take a breath.  ‘You boost it, we bust it!’

Darcy was nothing if not quick on the uptake.  ‘My man!’ she responded. ‘I’ve got a hot Audi R8 that needs to be put on ice.  Can you help a girl out?’

They’d never met in person, but she could hear the wide, evil grin in his voice as he replied, ‘I think I can take that off your hands.’

‘Sweet.  I’ll be in touch.’

It was around that point that Tony started to suspect he’d created a monster.

His fears were only strengthened when Steve came up in the rotation.  ‘Tony Stark’s phone,’ Steve said politely. Sarah Rogers hadn’t raised a boy with no manners.  ‘Can I give him a message?’

What Clara Lewis had raised was questionable.  ‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks,’ Darcy intoned in her deepest voice.

Steve may not have known what was going on, but he did know signs and countersigns when he heard them.  He also knew _The Hobbit._  ‘And the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole,’ was his prompt reply.

Darcy nearly swooned.  ‘You, sir, are a beautiful individual and I am hereby adopting you.’

Steve was perfectly happy to be adopted, and promptly joined Nat and Clint in being Up to No Good with Darcy.

Yes, this definitely wasn’t one of Tony’s more thought-out plans.  But they were too far in to back out now, as Darcy pointed out with unholy glee.

‘Besides, at this point it’s like a right of passage.’  She deployed the puppy eyes she’d honed at the feet of Thor.  The Lewis puppy eyes were nothing to sneeze at, but that man’s puppy eyes were next level.  Probably a side effect of being a Labradoodle in Norse god clothing. ‘You wouldn’t want to make the newbies feel left out, would you?’

Tony Stark might be the Invincible Iron Man, but he had yet to develop an adequate defense against puppy eyes.  He caved like a Hammer Industries robot.

* * *

 

Their latest target technically wasn’t an Avenger, but Tony insisted that anyone with facial hair that awesome deserved the full treatment.  So Darcy dutifully waited until she got the high sign (JARVIS, with an audible eye-roll—despite the fact he had no eyes to roll—saying, ‘Master Stark says you are a go.’) and hit Skynet on her speeddial.

She twirled a pen absently as she listened to Tony’s phone ring.  Just when she thought it was going to go to voicemail—a tragic waste all around; it was just _wrong_ to redial on a prank call—the phone was picked up and a deep and disgruntled voice came over the line.  

‘—don’t see why I have to answer it.  You have a PA. And voicemail. _Stark’s phone.’_  The voice was suddenly addressing her, and Darcy jumped in spite of herself, her pen falling to the desk with a clatter. _‘I’m not him, so make it quick.’_

She swallowed the nazgul shriek rising in her throat, waved a calming hand at Balrog, who’d sensed her distress and was trying to determine if there was someone he needed to eat (no.  The answer to that was almost always _no)_ , and said, in a voice that wasn’t quite as steady as she’d like, _‘Tell him:  Hamorabi has entered the hypostyle hall.’_

There was a pause, long enough for Balrog to trot over and nudge her arm comfortingly while glaring fire and death at the phone.  Finally the voice— _her soulmate—_ made a strange choking noise.  Before she could ask if he was okay—because it would be a major bummer if her soulmate was _dying_ when they hadn’t even properly met—he said, ‘Don’t move,’ and hung up with a click.

Darcy pulled the phone away from her ear to stare at it.  ‘What the fresh pop tart was that?’ She’d always known, intellectually, that this would happen someday.  It was the whole reason (well, mostly the reason) she’d engaged in this bonkers Stark Scheme™ in the first place, after all.  But it was another thing entirely when _someday_ became _today._  She was _so_ not prepared.

Balrog did that ear-flick thing that was his version of a shrug, which pretty much summed up how they both felt, but wasn't particularly helpful.  She was about to call Tony to see if he could tell her what was going on—assuming the man actually answered his own phone—when the air in the centre of the Mullet began to shimmer.  Darcy threw herself out of her chair and pulled Palatine from its holster as a glowing circle materialized, bathing the lab in a shower of sparks.

A man in a weird blue tunic and downright awesome cloak—and yup, that was definitely a Stark-approved goatee—stepped through the circle.  Because that was _totally_ normal.  His eyes darted  around the room, snagging briefly on Balrog, before locking on Darcy.  He smirked. ‘Hamorabi, I presume?’

She blinked.  ‘I ain’t Dr. Livingstone.’  Through the still-sparking portal, she could see Tony in the centre of his lab, waving at her and grinning like a maniac.  Distantly, she wondered if magical sparks would interact with Jane’s notoriously volatile equipment the same way normal sparks would.  Were they in danger of fiery death, or would Science! and magic conspire to produce unforeseen consequences?

She rather expected the latter.  They’d probably all end up as sentient toasters or something.

Her soulmate laughed, surprisingly lighthearted for how he’d sounded over the phone.  But then, anyone who was going to dress like that in public had to have a sense of humour.  He _had_ to.  His dress sense couldn’t be _that_ bad.  ‘I think we can both be grateful for that.’  At an almost casual wave of his hand, the portal behind him shrank to a pinprick of light and disappeared.  

Saved from sentient toasterhood after all.  Groovy.

‘Tru dat.’  Straightening from her defensive crouch behind the desk, she reholstered her taser and rested a hand between Balrog’s antlers.  ‘For general purposes, I go by Darcy.’

‘Just Darcy?  Like Beyoncé?’

She snorted.  ‘More like Fitzwilliam.  My mom has an unhealthy obsession with Jane Austen and a twisted sense of humour, and we her children must live with the consequences.  How about you? Are you like Gandalf or something, or do you have more than one name to your...name?’ Coherent, that.

He lifted a shoulder.  ‘Technically Gandalf has lots of names.  I’m partial to Tharkun, myself.’

Oh sweet baby bilgenipes, this was even better than hearing Captain America quote _The Hobbit_.  She nodded gravely, trying to keep all evidence of the giddy butterflies swarming in her belly from showing.  Judging by Balrog’s grin, she wasn’t all that successful. ‘Excellent choice, but it doesn’t really answer my question.  Unless you’d like me to call you Tharkun. That could be arranged,’ she offered brightly.

‘How about no.  My name’s Stephen.  Stephen Strange.’

‘What, _really?’_  Holding back her grin was a lost cause.  ‘That’s _hilarious.’_

He eyed her narrowly.  ‘Don’t knock it, Fitzwilliam.  It’s not like _my_ parents had a whole lot of choice in the matter.’

‘Point.  Alright, let’s try this again.’  Grabbing hold of Balrog’s antlers, she paused for him to brace himself before swinging herself up and over his back.  It was a move they’d practiced under Agent Baskerville’s stringent supervision, though usually it involved more kicking in the face and less pure showing off.  Still, she didn’t miss the impressed look on Stephen’s face as she stuck her landing in front of him and held out a hand. ‘Hi! My name’s Darcy Lewis, Science!gremlin, Bilgesnipe Whisperer, and Avengers Wrangler Extraordinaire.  I’ll be your soulmate for the rest of your natural—or unnatural, as the case may be—life.’

‘I feel vaguely threatened.’

She wiggled her fingers.  ‘Play nice, Tharkun.’

‘Fine.’  He reached out and grasped her hand firmly, long fingers swallowing hers whole.  ‘I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, Neurosurgeon, Master of the Mystic Arts, and Wielder of the Eye of Agamotto.’  The collar of his cloak unfolded itself from his shoulders to slap the back of his head. With a roll of his eyes, he added, ‘And Chosen Wielder of the Cloak of Levitation.’

‘I’m going to overlook your obvious need to show off with all those ridiculous titles in favour of gushing over the fact that your cloak is alive!  How cool is that!’ She used their still-clasped hands to tug him closer, reaching out with her free hand to hover just shy of the material on his shoulder.  ‘It it friendly? Does “levitation” mean it can fly, or does it just inject levity into any given situation? And do you call it Levy for short?’

The Cloak answered her first and second question by wrapping itself around her hand and lifting them both into the air.  Darcy let out an undignified squawk, flailing wildly until Stephen snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him.  She could feel the chuckles vibrating in his chest.

‘Stop enjoying this,’ she muttered into his tunic.

‘Sorry, no can do,’ he answered cheerfully.  ‘And I think the answer to your second and third questions is “yes.”  But I’ve never called it Levy in my life.’

‘S’okay, she looks more like a Wendy anyway.’  She pried her face from his chest and craned her head back so she could look him in the eye.  His remarkably pretty eyes. She hadn’t appreciated them before—magic portals and sentient outerwear were distracting like that—but up close they were gorgeous.  Like opals. She’d always had a thing for opals. ‘You have beautiful eyes.’ Aaaand she had _not_ meant to say that aloud.

He grinned, the corners of those pretty eyes crinkling nicely.  ‘I’m tempted to say “get off my face,” but seeing as we’re soulmates and all, and given the fact that I’d quite like you to be all over my face in the near future, I’m just going to say thanks.’

Darcy’s jaw dropped, her mouth hanging open until Stephen used two fingers on the tip of her chin to close it.  ‘That was simultaneously the single most romantic and _nerdiest_ thing anyone has ever said to me.’  She freed one hand from the death grip she had around his neck to pat his shoulder.  ‘Well done, you.’

He pouted, with devastating effect.  ‘That’s all I get? For something that impressive, I figure I should get at least a kiss.’

‘Wow, modest, aren’t you?’ she deadpanned.  Pout or no pout, she wasn’t going to make it that easy.  ‘At least buy a girl dinner first.’ She was suddenly, uncomfortably  aware of the fact that her feet had been dangling in the air for longer than was at all okay.  ‘Also, do you mind if we take this downstairs? Flight has never been among my many skills, and it’s something I’m going to need to work up to.  Besides, it’s making Balrog nervous.’

That was a shameless lie, and she could feel Balrog’s glare drilling into the back of her head, accompanied by the spike of indignant displeasure through their link.  She sent him the psychic equivalent of the Lewis Puppy Eyes. _C’mon, pal.  Work with me._  There was a snort, and then the affectionate exasperation of a parent bilgesnipe for its nippit.  Which, _rude._  She was definitely the parent in this relationship.

Stephen’s pretty eyes were twinkling at her, as if he could sense their interchange.  For all she knew, he could. She didn’t have any frame of reference for actual, proper, real magic.  Mew-Mew didn't count. As Jane and Thor (but mostly Jane) were ever so fond of reminding her, anything Asgardian was a result of Science!, not magic.

Jane and Thor (but mostly Jane) had no _imagination._

The sensation of her feet happily renewing their acquaintance with the ground brought her back to the present, and she sighed with imperceptible relief.

Stephen’s grin widened, suggesting her relief was more perceptible than she'd realized.  ‘I'd be happy to help you work up to it.’ The Cloak—Wendy, she definitely was a Wendy—slapped the back of his head again, and he rolled his eyes.  ‘ _We'd_ be happy to help you work up to it.  Say tonight? Followed by dinner?’

She raised an eyebrow.  ‘I have the sneaking suspicion you're afraid I'll get airsick if we went after dinner.’  He opened his mouth to object, but she held up a hand. ‘You would probably be right. Alright, Doctor Strange, it's a date.’  She headed for the door of the Mullet, Balrog trotting at her heels.

‘Hold on, Hamorabi.  How will I find you?’

She paused with her hand on the door to grin back at him.  ‘Tony can give you my number.’ Blowing him a kiss, she added, ‘Namarie, Tharkun!’

**Author's Note:**

> Stephen goes back and forth between calling Darcy Hamorabi and Fitzwilliam. Darcy occasionally sprinkles Tharkun into her rotation of Doctor nicknames.
> 
> Darcy presents Stephen with a clicker of his very own on their second date, and he is more than happy to be Up to No Good with the rest of her motley crew. Tony feels betrayed.
> 
> True story: When my mom was in college, a friend of hers had her call his dorm and give a cryptic message to a friend of his, so that he could pretend to rush off on Important and Mysterious Business. The message she chose was Hamorabi has entered the hypostyle hall. It's a phrase I've wanted to use for a soulmark forever, and I'm posting it now in honour of her birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom!
> 
> (She never reads these, but she's supportive of my weird hobbies. Which explains why I was a mime in high school and play bagpipes to this day.)
> 
> As always, feel free to leave a prompt in the comments below, or [shoot the breeze](https://taleasoldastime-andspace.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr. No smut, slash, or polyships, please and thank you.
> 
> Happy Saint Patrick's day, my little bilgesnipes!


End file.
